


the way we used to be

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Exes, F/M, Like sex with your ex, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, they are complete messes here y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: Clarke decides there's only one way to get over Bellamy:fucking him one last time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk what to even say here, just...this is filthy, my dudes.

“I’ve got a problem,” Clarke announced.

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Raven asked, skimming the menu disinterestedly.

“Animal.  Or maybe mineral, because it’s a chemistry thing?  No, that doesn’t make sense, it’s definitely animal.  But it’s bad.”

“I don’t know why I’m pretending I’m getting anything other than the ramen,” Raven said to no one in particular.  “Okay, your problem. Spill.”

Clarke buried her face in her hands.  “Actually, I need wine first.”

“Way ahead of you,” Raven said, and just like that the server arrived at their table with two large glasses of red wine.  

Clarke took one, bolted half of it, and ignored Raven’s surprised look. “So...Bellamy.”

“What about him?” Raven asked warily.

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Clarke I swear to god, if you say one thing about getting back together with—”

“No, not like that.  Or, I mean, not like...being a couple.  I know we can't do that again.”

“Good, because you two splitting up was like my parents getting a divorce, and I’m not about to go through that again.”

“No, I know. We were a disaster, never to be repeated.  I just mean, when I’m, you know...with someone else. I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Raven glared at her and took her own healthy gulp of wine.  “When you’re fucking someone else, you mean,” she clarified, and Clarke nodded.  “Well, then you need to stop that.”

“I’ve tried,” Clarke whined.  “Believe me, I’ve tried.” And she had, truly.  She and Bellamy had only made it three months.  They burned hot and fast and when they burned out, it was a catastrophic explosion that left nothing but ashes in their wake.  Raven wasn’t wrong— it was almost like a divorce, the way they had to divide up their time with their friends after everything went south. They were back to being unable to spend time together without hissing and grumbling and sometimes straight up shouting, so it was best for everyone if they simply no longer shared any space.

But oh god, the  _ sex. _  The sex wasn’t just good, it was the best sex of her goddamn  _ life. _  And when they broke up, Clarke told herself it wasn’t anything special— she’d be able to find plenty of people who could fuck her like he could.  Their chemistry might have been intense, but it wasn’t sustainable. Better to find someone else with whom she could keep the sparks at a more manageable level.

Except it had been over a year and that had not panned out.  She’d gone on plenty of dates, some of which even turned into brief relationships, but Bellamy still loomed large in her carnal imagination.  It never failed— she’d be with someone else, enjoying herself but not  _ quite _ making it there, and then she’d shut her eyes and imagine it was him and...bam.  

The first few times, she convinced herself it was just a fluke.  She couldn’t have chemistry with everyone, and sometimes it took awhile to get used to a new partner’s body and touches, and there wasn’t anything wrong with a little mental stimulation to put herself over the edge.  But it kept happening, and happening, and now it was a full-blown  _ problem. _

“I can’t stop,” Clarke said, and Raven rolled her eyes.  “Like I said, it’s bad.”

“Yeah, it is.”  Raven sighed. “You’ve got two choices, the way I see it.  Either you knock that shit off, right now, or—”

“Or what?”

“You get him out of your system.  Once and for all.”

Clarke gratefully accepted a second glass of wine from the server.  “Do you think it’ll work?”

“It did with Roan,” Raven shrugged.  “The situation was slightly different, in that we hadn’t banged before, but overall, yeah. I went, I came, I left. Completely over him, never to be repeated.”

“Is he...seeing anyone? Bellamy, I mean.”

“Not that I know of."

"And how much does he hate me?"

Raven considered that.  "Probably not as much as you think, but...you're definitely not his favorite person.   But I gotta say, this is the full extent of my involvement.  You asked my advice and I gave it to you, and if this blows up in your face I’m not cleaning up the mess, okay?”

“Agreed,” Clarke said, and they wryly clinked their glasses together.

 

* * *

Clarke nervously chewed her thumbnail, a habit she thought she’d long broken, and paced in front of Bellamy’s office door.  This was probably the most inappropriate way to broach this, but Raven wasn’t about to arrange an in-person meeting for her and he might have blocked her phone number.  Desperate times called for desperate measures, and seeing as last night she’d given herself no less than three orgasms with nothing but her vibrator and some vivid memories of the last time he’d gone down on her, she decided that this was it— her most desperate hour.

She saw him first, fussing with the strap of his messenger bag as he walked down the hall.  He looked more or less the same as he had the last time, save for a shadow around his jawline.  He looked up, caught her eye, and looked down again, never breaking stride. But then he stuttered to a stop barely a yard away when it sank in.  “What do you want?” he asked, the color draining from his face.

“Could we talk?”

“Whatever you left at my place I threw away,” he said, shouldering her aside to unlock his door.

“It’s not that.”

“Fine,” he mumbled.

Clarke closed the door behind them.  “You look good,” she said, as nicely and not-awkwardly as possible.  “How was class?”

“Clarke,” he sighed, tossing his bag behind his desk.  Thankfully the other grad students who shared his office weren’t there, or else this would have been even worse.

“Right right, okay.  So first of all, know that I know I have no right to say this, or ask it, or— really any right to be here, after how things ended.  And if you say no, I promise I’ll walk away and not tell a soul, and if—”

“Stop rambling and get it over with,” he snapped.

She lifted her chin defiantly, his annoyance rousing her old fight-or-flight-instinct.  “Fine. I want to fuck you one last time.”

Bellamy blinked.  “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I don’t think I did. Because what I think I heard was you, coming into my  _ workplace _ to  _ demand that I fuck you,  _ and I don’t think even you would be that out of line, princess.”

“I didn’t demand anything.  I just offered. I think I need to get you out of my system.”

“And what do I get out of this?” he asked, crossing his arms threateningly.

“A really great bang,” she shrugged, like this wasn’t the most terrifying thing she’d ever done.  He’d seen her naked hundreds of times, but she’d never once felt this vulnerable.

Well, maybe one time.  But this was different.

“Compelling argument,” he scoffed. “Did you want to lock the door and get it over with right now, or did you have something more private in mind?”

“You know I didn’t mean right here.”

“I do? How the fuck am I supposed to know  _ anything _ with you, princess?”

They were veering into old, familiar territory and she needed to right the ship before everything got even worse.  “I’m sorry, I thought— I just thought we might need to get this out of our system. I shouldn’t have come here, and I shouldn’t— I’m sorry,” she repeated.

It looked like Bellamy was about to say something in response, but she left before he got the chance.

 

* * *

Clarke had just settled onto her couch with a giant glass of wine, ready to try and forget her embarrassing attempt to set up a hook up with Bellamy when her buzzer rang.  “I swear to god,” she muttered, because the guy in 4B was  _ always _ writing 4D on his delivery orders.  “If you’re looking for McCreary, he’s 4B,” she said automatically into the speaker.

There was a pause.  “Nope, not looking for someone else,” a familiar voice replied, and she nearly dropped her wine glass.

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah.  Are you going to let me in, or are we gonna have this discussion with me out here?”

She buzzed him in and set her wine down carefully.  She ran her hands through her hair, wishing she was in something a little less revealing than her sleep shorts and tank top, but it was too late to change.

She opened the door before he had a chance to knock.  “Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly, and didn’t fail to notice that his eyes dropped quickly to her cleavage and then darted up just as quickly to her face.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly.  He had changed from earlier, now in dark jeans and a flannel she had spent far too many saturdays wearing around his apartment.  She ignored the sad little  _ flop _ her heart made at the sight of it, because that part of their relationship was dead and buried.

“Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got some wine open,” she offered, more to fill the silence than out of any real instinct to be a good hostess.

“Yeah, sure.  Wine. That sounds good.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets while she poured and she stood a safe distance away from him, leaning against her kitchen island while he remained near the table.  “So...earlier today,” he said, focused on swirling the wine in his glass. “You were serious?”

“About the sex?”

He snorted.  “Yeah, that. About what you said about getting it out of our system, one last time.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and shrugged one shoulder.  “I thought...maybe I was stuck under your skin the way you’re stuck under mine.”

“You think that highly of yourself?”

“When it comes to sex and us, yeah, I do,” she retorted.  “I know what we had.”

“Pretty bold, suggesting that after everything we went through,” he observed.

Clarke shrugged again.  “Like I said, sex was never our problem,” she said, instead of the truth, which was  _ I knew I could because no matter what, I’ve always trusted you.  Even at our worst, I always had that. _

“No, it wasn’t,” he said, a glimmer of a smile on his lips.  He took a sip of wine and set down the glass, eyes locked onto her.  “You were thinking just...once?”

“Just once,” she agreed.  Her heartbeat picked up as he stepped towards her, but she made herself stay still, letting him come to her.  “And then I can stop—” she broke off, but it was too late.

Bellamy grinned predatorily at her.  “You can stop what, princess?”

“Nothing.”

“If we’re going to do this, the least you can do is be honest with me.”

Clarke braced herself against the counter, chin up.  “Fine. Then I can stop thinking about  you whenever I’m fucking someone else.”

Bellamy’s throat worked hard.  “I'm that much of a problem for you, huh?”  He finished closing the distance between them and his eyes dragged up and down her body, heavy and dark.

“Key word being  _ problem, _ ” she said archly, but she knew her pulse was pounding hard enough for him to see it.

His fingertips skimmed along her neck, trailing across the strap of her tank top and down her shoulder.  “That does sound like a terrible burden,” he smirked.

Clarke narrowed her eyes even as she let him stand between her legs, effectively trapping her.  “Seeing as you’re here, I’m thinking you had the same problem.”

Bellamy’s other hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb sweeping back and forth across her cheek.  “I don’t know that I’d call those memories a problem, per se,” he said, and there was a hazy, lost look to his eyes that was all too familiar.  His thumb traced the bow of her lip and he pressed down on her jaw, opening her mouth just enough for her tongue to slip through and lap at his fingertip.  “More like...the easiest way to make sure I come.”

His thumb was still lingering on her lips and she nipped it.  “I never knew you to take the easy way out,” she teased.

He curled his hand around the nape of her neck and tilted her head up to meet his gaze.  “Yeah well, you were always my exception.” His knee slid up, pressing into her center, and she rolled her hips against it, needing friction.

“I have condoms in the bedroom,” she whispered, chasing his lips while he pulled back, infuriatingly just out of reach.

Something flashed in his eyes.  “No. No beds. I’ve got a condom with me,” he said.  “And I want you here. Right here.”

Her stomach curled inward on itself and she grabbed his face in her hands, dragging him down to kiss her.

Clarke would never admit to it now, but kissing Bellamy had been her favorite activity, even more than the sex.  His lips were always soft, always the right mix of gentle and demanding. His tongue moved slowly alongside hers, teasing and retreating and tracing her lips until she had no more oxygen in her lungs and she had to pull back.

Bellamy lifted her up onto the counter and fit himself more closely between her thighs.  She clawed desperately at his shirt, clumsily peeling it back until she had access to more skin, and he dragged hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of her neck.

Everywhere he touched her burned.  His fingers were like brands, marking and claiming her with each touch.  He shoved his hand up her tank top and palmed her breast roughly, her moan shortly echoed by his own when she sank her teeth into his shoulder.  He tipped her back, trapping her nipple between his teeth, and she locked her ankles around his waist for leverage.

It was like they were on borrowed time, racing against the clock and the ticking time bomb that was them whenever they were together.  She dragged his mouth to her other breast and rocked her hips against his cock, thick and hard through his jeans, and Bellamy jerked back abruptly to pull her shorts and underwear down with rough, sure movements.  He left her top on, pushed up to keep her breasts bared.

Clarke spread her knees wider and he bent over, kissing down the soft curve of her stomach while she leaned back.  He kept flicking his eyes up at her, gauging her reaction, and she fought the urge to brush his hair back from his forehead.  That felt too tender, too intimate, for what this was supposed to be. Instead she braced herself, first on her palms and then on her elbows as he crouched down to kiss the inside of her knee.  He hauled her hips forward so she was balanced precariously on the edge of the counter, one hand coming up to pinch at her nipple and send another surge of wetness to her center.

He nuzzled her thigh and trailed his fingertip through her soaking folds, so lightly she cried out.  He smirked at that, eyes dark, and kissed her hip while his fingers explored her. He was teasing her, touching her gently even while she ached for roughness and friction, and his tongue drew patterns across her skin, so close to where she wanted him but not there, not yet.

It should make her angry, but she was lost.  Lost in him, lost in how good it felt to have him touch her again, lost in the slow, deliberate way his fingers danced at her entrance, drawing out her wetness while his eyes burned into her.  And then finally he parted her with his thumbs. She nearly sobbed with relief when his breath skated across her skin, but then she realized he wasn’t moving. He was watching her, goading her into begging him, and she broke.  “Please,” she moaned brokenly. “Please.”

He nipped at her inner thigh, a little too hard to be purely playful.  “Please what, princess?”

She reached for her anger but couldn’t find it.  In its place was a white hot need, not just to come but for  _ him _ to make her come, with his tongue and fingers and those dark eyes that never left hers.  “Lick my cunt,” she whispered, and the second she said it he touched her clit with the tip of his tongue.

This was the point with other people where she’d have to close her eyes, but with him she didn't need to.  He never once looked away from her, not while his tongue moved from her entrance to her clit and back again, and not when he spread her even wide her to press his tongue deep inside.  

She keened and he made a satisfied noise that rumbled through her.  She dug her heel into his back and for the briefest of seconds he turned his head to kiss her thigh like he used to, but then he was back to licking so deeply into her she couldn’t think coherently.

She’d missed this.  This was what she craved, what she had to imagine to get herself off.  He knew her perfectly, knew the exact pressure she needed and touches she needed, and he always gave them to her.  Sometimes he made her wait, or wanted her to beg, but he always, always gave it to her in the end. 

Bellamy circled her clit with his tongue and pushed two fingers inside of her, crooking them up and flickering his tongue against her until she was a trembling, sweating, needy mess.  And just when she thought she might black out, he pressed against that spot deep inside her just right. 

Her back bowed off the counter and she moaned, her throat wrecked.  She fell to pieces, waves rolling through her so quickly she couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.  Bellamy kept lapping at her, more gently now, and bit by bit she came back to earth.

“That as good as you remember?” he growled, pulling her into a sitting position and undoing his jeans.  

“Better,” she said breathlessly.  Bellamy chuckled. He pulled a condom from his pocket and rolled it on, adjusting her jellied limbs around him to push inside of her.

Clarke gasped, the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippling through her, and she drew his face down for a messy kiss.  He moved deeper into her, his cock filling her and stretching her with an ache so perfect she thought she might have imagined it.  But no sooner had she gotten used to the feeling of him inside her again than he pulled out. “Not like this,” he said, shaking his head.  “Over there, against the table.”

He pulled her down from the counter and she tossed her tank top over to the side, her movements clumsy but purposeful.  She bent over the table and he pushed back into her immediately, and yes,  _ this. _  She couldn’t kiss him like this but he was deeper, her breasts pressed tightly against the wood and her hips pinned between him and the table.  

Clarke spread her arms wide and he covered her with his body, one hand on her shoulder to pull her back against him with every thrust.  His wine glass rocked precariously and Clarke wondered if she’d have bruises on her hips, a small part of her hoping she would so she could remember that this happened, this was real.

“Fuck I love your cunt,” he groaned, leaning over her to whisper into her ear.  His breath was hot and she shivered, twisting her head to kiss whatever part of him she could reach.  “Touch yourself,” he ordered, and she whimpered. “Please, touch yourself,” he said again, and this time she heard the note of pleading in his voice.  “I want to— I need you to come again, come on my cock. Please,” he said, and Clarke could never turn him down, not like this.

She slipped her hand between her thighs, her clit still sticky and swollen from before, and drew it in tight, rough circles.  With every pass of her fingers she brushed against his cock, pistoning in and out of her, and Bellamy let out a shuddering breath against her neck. “Goddamn, yes, like that,” he urged, and she kept going, the heat inside of her building as his pace picked up and then stuttered, his cock swelling inside of her and his moans getting louder, more desperate.

He came first, spilling into the condom with rhythmic thrusts that tipped her over the edge.  Her walls fluttered and then clenched, drawing out the rest of his come while she moaned and writhed underneath him.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.  His chest rested against her back, his face buried in her neck, and she wondered what would happen next.  She hadn’t planned for this part, hadn’t really thought he’d take her up on it, and she didn’t know how they were supposed to finish it.

Bellamy solved that problem for her.  He pulled out, tying off the condom and tucking himself back into his jeans, which never made it farther off than down his hips.  Clarke stood and stepped back into her shorts, avoiding eye contact with him as best she could.

He finished dressing first and picked up his still-half-full wine glass, draining it in one gulp. “I guess that’s it then,” he snarked, his eyes hard.

“Bellamy—”

“This was the deal, right? Once more, and then we’re done.”

“It was, I just—”

“Then consider my end of the bargain fulfilled,” he said flatly.  “Thanks for the fuck, princess.” 

And then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn’t work.

She thought Raven’s plan was exactly what she needed— some sort of closure, a way of working out whatever she hadn’t processed about their failed relationship.

But instead of banishing him from her mind, all it did was bring everything rushing back.  For one thing, she now had new memories to use when getting herself off, and everything seemed so much fresher, more real.  She didn’t have to remember how his skin tasted, she  _ felt _ it, the same way she felt his hands on her hips as he fucked her against the table.  The bruises hadn’t faded yet and a sick part of her didn’t want them to; liking remembering what she’d done to get them.

Instead of covering up an old wound she’d ripped the scab right off, and even worse, she found she had almost no desire to fight it.  She surrendered to it instead, letting the memories of Bellamy— old and new— overwhelm her.

She barely even bothered with porn.  There wasn’t any point, not when she knew exactly what she needed to get off.  It would have been foolproof if she didn’t hate herself so much for it.

Because she didn’t get to want Bellamy.  Not after how things ended. And she especially didn’t get to think about the other moments, the softer things that passed between them.

His hand skimming up her bare back in the morning.  The scent of him lingering on her skin, long after he’d gone home.  The warmth of his faded, worn-flannel that she stole every time she was at his apartment.

The flash of his smile whenever she made him laugh.

Those were precious things she’d shattered, and she made herself leave them in the past.  Even if the first thing she reached for in the morning was him.

Truth be told, they weren’t as much of a disaster as everyone thought they were.  They weren’t perfect, and they weren’t sustainable, but there was more to their relationship than fighting and fucking.  There were long, lazy weekends full of laughter and conversations and _trust_. After leaving Finn and Lexa, Clarke had thought she was done with trusting another person, least of all the grumpy, angry grad student who insisted on hanging out with her new friends.  No one was more surprised than Clarke herself when the first night she spent with Bellamy turned into the first  _ morning _ she’d spent with another human in a long, long time.  She let him see a side of her she didn’t even know still existed, and for three months, he did the same.

It was her own damn fault it ended, and a tiny part of her wondered if the reason she couldn’t fully shake him was because she was punishing herself for ruining everything.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her reverie.

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ Hey, can we get a rain check on dinner tomorrow night? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ There’s a new grad student in the lab and he had the audacity to say I couldn’t program a drone as fast as he could.  It’s a whole thing, but long story short I have to be on top of the engineering building tomorrow night to prove that little shit wrong. _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ How do you win this bet? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ Program a drone to run an obstacle course that the rest of the lab is going to set up tomorrow _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ It’s an excellent use of the lab’s resources, I know, but there’s pride on the line, and also he said he was better than me?????  The audacity, can you even believe _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ Could we do dinner on Thursday instead? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ Thursday’s fine with me _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ If I need more advice about you know what, is that available? _

 

There was a long pause before Raven responded, the ellipses appearing and disappearing several times.

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ Honestly? No, I can’t get more involved.  It didn’t work? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ Or maybe worked too well? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ That doesn’t make any sense, hon _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ But my thoughts are with you in this difficult time, even if I can’t be of more help _

 

Clarke didn’t blame Raven for not wanting to get involved, since Bellamy was as much her friend as Clarke was, if not more so.  They were in different departments but both were grad students on the same campus, and she knew they had lunch together weekly. She wished Raven was just slightly less loyal and would let her pump her for information, but there was no point in that.  It was what she loved about Raven, even if it was more than a little frustrating in this particular incidence.

Clarke did her best to distract herself instead.  She reactivated her tinder profile and swiped through her matches, picking just about anyone she found moderately attractive until one of the men messaged her.

Maybe it was shitty to offer to meet him right away just to try and get Bellamy out of her mind, but whatever.  He clearly wasn’t looking for anything more than a hookup, so what did it matter if she was using him more or less as an experiment?  He agreed to wait for her at a bar around the corner, so Clarke threw on her best bra and a low cut shirt and headed out.

But it was useless.  The conversation wasn’t bad, and he was attractive enough, but three quarters of the way through her drink she decided to kiss him and get it over with. If it was worth her time, maybe she could convince herself to move on.

It wasn’t.  He was a capable kisser, but the moment her lips met his she had a vivid flashback to the way Bellamy would kiss her, soft and urgent and searching, and Clarke decided not to bother.

“I’m sorry,” she said hastily, standing up and throwing down enough cash to cover both their drinks.  “I’m, um, just getting out of something and I thought I was more ready than I am.”

Her date shrugged.  “I’m fine with whatever, you know. Not really looking for anything special.”

“I know, I just— sorry, I can’t.”

The walk back to her apartment felt humiliating in a way the supposed walk of shame never had for her.

She was broken.

She was doomed to spend the rest of her life thinking about Bellamy whenever she was with someone else, and what’s worse, part of her was fine with that.  She just had to make her piece with it, but she had no idea how to do that.

Clarke had just pulled out her keys to her building when her phone buzzed.  Expecting an update on Raven’s new rival, she pulled it out and glanced at her message half-heartedly.

But then her stomach dropped.

She had promised Raven she deleted Bellamy’s phone number, but that was a straight out lie.  She couldn’t bring herself to, even though she knew he’d probably blocked her anyway.  

But he clearly hadn’t because there on her lock screen, semi-transparent like a ghost from her past, was a message from him.

 

_ B _

_ Once wasn’t enough. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, I know. But the next one is basically all smut so I feel like that's a fair trade.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know, guys.

It didn’t even occur to her until she was knocking on his door that Bellamy might not be home, or that his roommate Miller might be there too.  But no sooner had she realized that the door swung open and Bellamy yanked her inside, his lips already on hers. Clarke speared her fingers through his hair, letting him peel off her layers as they went.  They stumbled through his apartment, shedding clothes like they were once more in a race against time. 

He mouthed at the swell of her breasts, chuckling to himself.   “What?” she managed, even though she was preoccupied with running her hands across the planes of his back, feeling his smooth, hot skin under her palms.

“Every damn time I tell myself I’m imagining things; that your tits aren’t this great. And every damn time I’m wrong,” he muttered, impatiently tugging her shirt over her head.

He paused, frowning down at her.  “Any particular reason for this?” he asked, running his thumb under the strap of her bra.  It was navy blue and lacy, one she knew she'd bitched about to him several times, since it looked fantastic but tended to dig into her ribs after awhile.

“Do I need one?”

He walked backwards until his legs hit the couch, pulling her with him.  “You’re just awfully dressed up considering I texted you fifteen minutes ago.”

“I had a date,” Clarke shrugged.

Bellamy’s eyes darkened with something like jealousy.  “I take it that went well,” he said drily.

She ran her hands up his chest, scraping her nail against his nipple until he shivered.  “He kissed me and all I could think about was you,” she admitted.

He smirked.  “Sucks to be him,” he said, leaning forward to kiss the hollow beneath her jaw.  “I had a date last night too,” he whispered into her ear, unhooking her bra at the same time.

“And how'd that go?” she said casually, even though a primal part of her wanted to mark him until the whole world knew he was hers.

“Could’ve been better,” he said, matching her tone.  He reached down into her leggings to feel how wet she was already.  “I fucked her, but she didn’t taste like you.” He withdrew his hand and licked his fingers clean of her, eyes locked onto hers.

Clarke pulled his hand away from his mouth and kissed him, chasing her taste on his tongue.  “That’s a shame,” she purred.

“They never do, you know,” he said, voice hoarse.  Clarke unbuttoned his jeans and slipped her hand in, palming his length through his boxer-briefs.  “They never taste like you. I spent a goddamn year trying to fuck you out of my head, but it never fucking worked.”  She shoved his pants down and he stepped out of them, mouth still running like a man possessed. “I thought I was broken.”

Clarke’s chest tightened at his words but she refused to let it show on her face.  She knew he'd regret saying this shit the second they finished, and she didn't want to see it on his face.  She couldn't bear it, not again.  “Doesn’t feel broken to me,” she said, drawing out his cock. She ran her hand up and down, twisting at the base and teasing the tip with her thumb.  A dark blush bloomed on his neck, spreading slowly down his chest.

Bellamy guided her face up to his, his kiss deep and heavy.  “That wasn’t the problem, princess,” he growled, wrapping his hand around hers and speeding up her strokes.  He drew her lower lip between his teeth. “The problem was none of them were you.”

She’d made herself forget how he got like this sometimes, things spilling from his lips during sex that he would never say otherwise.  She pushed him to sit down instead.

This time, she was the one fitting herself between his knees, mouthing at the lines of his abdomen where his muscles arrowed towards his cock.  Bellamy loosely knotted his hand in her hair and she rested her cheek on his thigh, teasing his cock with her fingers, watching him grow harder under her touch.  She darted her tongue out, lapping at the underside, and he swore.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, content to let her take the lead this time.  “I missed your mouth too. The way you lick me like that, like you’re getting off on it.”  Clarke curled her tongue around his shaft and then wrapped her lips around the tip, drawing him in with a long, hard suck.  

His back arched with the strain of keeping his hips still.  “God, your mouth. So fucking hot and wet, almost—” he broke off when she fluttered her tongue across his slit, lost in her.  “Fuck, just like that,” he encouraged and she slid her lips down to meet her hand, still twisting around the base. “You take me so deep, sucking so hard— goddammit Clarke, how do you do this to me,” he rambled.  His hand in her hair tightened, hard enough to sting, and she swallowed him down her throat as far as she could. “Oh fuck, just like that, jesus fucking christ don’t stop, please, please don’t stop,” he begged, his cock somehow stiffening even more on her tongue.

As much as she wanted him to come, that wouldn’t be enough for her, not this time.  She stood and he whined, grabbing clumsily at her hip as she loomed over him. “Please, don’t stop,” he repeated, and she leaned forward to kiss him with a smirk on her lips.

“If I keep going you won’t be able to fuck me,” she pointed out, letting him palm roughly at her tits.  She shimmied out of her leggings and panties, bent at the waist so she could keep their lips fused together. “And I really, really need you to fuck me,” she added, and drew two fingers through her own wetness, holding them out to him.

Bellamy was finally beyond words, groaning and licking at her taste like he was a dying man in the desert.  She dug a condom from her purse and rolled it on as quickly as she could before kneeling astride him. Clarke locked her arms against the back of the couch and sank down, both of them moaning in unison.  “There, just like that,” she cooed, rocking her hips forward and feeling his cock drag against her walls. “You always did fill me up so good.”

His hands found her hips and his voice found his words.  “Was that condom for him?” he asked, pulling her down hard against him and thrusting up at the same time.  “Did you take a condom with you, thinking he’d fuck you like this?”

Clarke hid her face in his shoulder, bouncing up and down on his cock.  “I thought he might, but I knew—” His hand came up to curl around the nape of her neck and she lost her train of thought, kissing at his jaw instead.

“You knew what?” he prompted, hips snapping up even harder now, hitting a spot so deep it was hard to breathe.

“I knew he couldn’t fuck me like you could,” she managed.  She nipped at his earlobe, possessiveness surging through her.  “What about her?”

“Who?”  He was panting against her, losing control the way she was.

“The woman you fucked last night.  Was it good?” She dragged her nails down his chest, leaving angry red marks behind.

“Not like this.  It’s never like this,” he babbled.  “No one’s cunt is like yours, no one tastes like you, fuck, no one  _ is _ you,” he growled fiercely, and tilted his head to kiss her.  It was messy, all teeth and tongue, and then he was sucking at a spot just above her breast so hard it would bruise.  

She dug her nails into his shoulder in retaliation, because if he was going to mark her she would do the same.  “Yes, fuck yes,” he chanted, and she rose up a little higher on her knees before sliding down on him, and when his fingers found her clit she knew he was close.  “You’re mine,” he growled, circling her clit until sparks were flying through her body. “Say it.”

“You’re mine,” she said instead, and he sank his teeth into the spot where her neck met her shoulder. 

“Fuck, I am, I am,” he swore, and then they were both coming, hard and fast.

She was still twitching around his cock when she came back to herself, her arms curled around his back and his face pillowed against her chest.  He trailed his hand up her spine, slow and gentle, and pressed a soft kiss to the mark he’d left. She nuzzled as his temple, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, and felt him sigh against her skin.

And suddenly, it was all too much.  She stood and refused to let herself feel the loss of his cock slipping out, already searching for her underwear.

She was half dressed by the time he cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry if I, uh— if things got a little intense,” he said, sitting up from where he had been draped across the cushions.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said breezily, fluffing her hair out from the neck of her shirt.  “That’s just how you— that’s just how we are,” she amended. It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t quite the truth, because she was  _ only _ like that with him— possessive and unchained and wild, filthy and sweet and  _honest._  He brought out parts of her she didn’t know how to handle, and that was part of the problem.  Possibly _the_ problem.

She grabbed her purse and stepped into her shoes, waving him off as he went to stand up.  “I know my way out,” she said, desperate for escape.

She couldn't bear to let him see her cry.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Chapter 4

Eighteen Months Ago

Bellamy was propped against her headboard, his book open on his lap.  “You’re already doing homework?” Clarke scolded, setting his coffee down on the nightstand.  It’d barely been three weeks, but things with Bellamy were already veering towards the comfortably domestic.  It scared her, almost, how easily they slipped into this, given that their first hookup had been borne out of sarcasm, snarling, and a few too many tequila shots on the dance floor at Grounders.

But during moments like this, safely ensconced in her apartment, it was like this was how they were meant to be.

Bellamy readjusted his glasses— she even didn’t know he needed them until last night, when he brought them with him to stay over— and looked up.  “Comprehensive exams wait for no man,” he said drily. “I’ve got another fifty books to get through before the summer is up.”

Clarke wrinkled her nose and tugged it from his grasp.  “You can probably spare fifteen minutes though, right?” she teased, setting her own mug down next to his.  She clambered into his lap, knees astride his hips, and let him run his hands up her sides under his shirt.  It being her apartment she had more than enough clothing of her own to wear, but she preferred to wear his, keeping his scent as close to her as possible.

“I could be persuaded,” he said, nuzzling at her jaw.  “By the way, Raven texted. People are going out to brunch in about an hour and a half.”

Clarke stilled.  Their friends knew  _ something _ was happening with her and Bellamy, but not quite what.  She didn’t really know herself, to be perfectly honest, because what they had was clearly way more than just a hookup but it felt too early to really define it.  Miller knew Bellamy was spending a lot more time at her place but Clarke had responded to everyone else’s pointed questions about  _ just what are you two doing _ with an enigmatic shrug.

It wasn’t their business, she reasoned, at least not until she and Bellamy figured it out.  Plus, there was a part of her that was a little uneasy about declaring their relationship to everyone, seeing as the entire group was massively overprotective of Bellamy.  That had taken her awhile to work out, when she first started hanging out with them.  But she understood it now. There was something in the way he cared for his friends— fiercely, loyally, without reservation— that made you want to reciprocate.  But with Clarke’s less-than-stellar dating record (including unknowingly dating Finn at the same time Raven was getting ready to move in with him, which was how she met them all in the first place) she knew she was in for at least three stern lectures from them about  _ being careful with Bellamy. _

Granted, she tended to approach relationships casually, at least at first.  It was how she protected her heart, and she had a suspicion she would need that with him.  The way he looked at her was too much sometimes, especially so soon. Clarke leaned forward and captured his lips in a long, lingering kiss.  “If we go to brunch, we have to get dressed,” she pointed out. “And then you’d lose precious studying time.” She rolled her hips forward and felt him harden against her center.

“We can’t avoid them forever, you know,” he replied, but his hand slipped around to tease her nipple, kissing her back.  “Sooner or later, they’re gonna figure out we’re—”

“Fucking?” she finished, nipping playfully at his lower lip.

Something unreadable flashed in his eyes.  “Yeah, fucking,” he said, thrusting his hips up against her roughly.

They never made it out of bed that day.

* * *

 

“So anyway, turns out he’s got a pilot license so if I die this weekend, that’s why,” Raven whispered.  They shifted from downward to upward facing dog, and Clarke threw a look at her. Raven had modified her position because of her hip, letting her face Clarke more fully.

“What’s this guy’s name again?”

“Zeke.  Well, I guess his first name is Miles, but that sounds like a white boy who majored in accounting and thinks math is the real secret to understanding sports, so he goes by his middle name, which, thank god, you know?”

“Is he hot?”

Raven made an outraged noise.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because you’re into him,” Clarke countered.  “Like, so obviously into him you might as well wear a neon sign asking him out.”

“How dare you; I’ve never liked anyone in my life,” Raven retorted.  Their instructor glared at them and they fell silent, chastened, until the class was over.

“By the way, I thought you couldn’t make the this section of this class anymore,” Raven said when they had been dismissed.

“It’s not perfect with my schedule, but I’ve been slacking lately so I decided to make it work today,” Clarke said vaguely.  They left the classroom, mats tucked under their arms. In the next room a familiar set of black curls bounced as Bellamy ran on the treadmill, eyes locked on the TV above the machines.   
  
Raven nodded.  “I’ve gotta get to my massage or else my leg will be locked tomorrow, but did you want to grab drinks early next week?”

“Assuming you haven’t died in a fiery plane crash or been lost to a sex haze, sure,” Clarke grinned.

“Whatever, he’s gonna have to be more impressive than just part-time pilot,” Raven said with an eyeroll, but a faint tinge of red appeared in her ears.

Clarke laughed and waved, waiting until Raven was safely out of sight.  Earlier, she had told herself she wasn’t coming to the gym to see if Bellamy was there.  What she had said to Raven was the truth— she hadn’t made it to yoga in a couple of weeks, and she really wanted to get back into it.

The fact that she knew Bellamy usually went to the gym on Tuesday and Thursday nights didn’t have anything to do with it.  That was just a coincidence, like it was just a coincidence she had completely changed her schedule to avoid those specific times the week they broke up.  But if he happened to be here, well, those sorts of run-ins were inevitable.

Even though she was thoroughly worn out from yoga, Clarke stored her mat and walked over to the rowing machines, which were conveniently within a direct eyeline of the treadmills.

Three minutes later, Bellamy walked past.  He looked her up and down, eyes hot, and strolled to a weight machine on the wall.  She snorted to herself at his preening, but her gaze kept sliding to him, lingering on his biceps until she decided she was done with playing the game.

Or at least this part of the game.

Clarke stood up and grabbed a towel, walking slowly and deliberately past.  She dropped the towel immediately in front of him but refused to look over, even though she could feel him staring.  She kept going, head high, and slipped into the single-occupancy bathroom just around the corner.

Less than a minute later, someone knocked.  Heart in her throat, Clarke put her hand on the knob and paused.  “You dropped something,” Bellamy said quietly. 

He had her pinned to the door before she finished taking a breath, hands on her shoulders.  “Are we really doing this?” he asked, eyes once again raking her body.

Clarke flicked the lock behind her.  “I am if you are.”

He answered by crushing his lips against hers.  His skin was sweaty but so was hers and she shoved her hand down his shorts, grabbing his dick and feeling it fill in her palm.  “I don’t have a condom,” she admitted, licking at a bead of sweat on his collarbone, “but I can still make you feel good.”

“Jesus, Clarke,” he groaned as she dropped to her knees.  He braced himself against the door, head resting on his arm to watch her.  She didn’t bother to tease him like last time, the knowledge that someone could catch them in here at any second ratcheting up her need and spurring her on.  She tugged his shorts down and took him deep into her mouth in one movement, moaning at the salty weight of him on her tongue.

“Fuck, yeah, like that,” he encouraged, his hand brushing the bulge in her cheek.  “Do you know how often I think about this? You, on your knees, my cock in your mouth?”

Clarke let him go with a wet  _ pop. _  “How often?” she rasped, stroking him with her hand and licking her lips.

“All the fucking time.  Too often. It got me off last night, thinking about you,” he growled, careful to keep his voice down.  She rubbed her thighs together and drew him back between her lips, tongue swirling against his tip. He swelled and she eased him almost to the back of her throat before pulling back, wishing he’d grab her hair but he was clearly content to let her take charge even as his mouth was running away with him.  “Don’t stop this time, please, let me come in your mouth,” he whispered, and when she flicked her eyes up at him he looked ragged, a man on the edge.

She pulled her lips away and lifted her eyebrows.  “How bad to do want it?” she asked, circling his shaft with her fingers.  “How bad do you want to come in my mouth?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, nearly pounding the door with his fist and catching himself in time.  A bead of precum glistened on the tip of his cock and she licked it away. She sat back on her heels and waited, watching the muscle in his jaw jump with the strain.  “You know how bad I want it,” he said finally. “You know how bad I always want it with you, whatever you want, it’s yours, I’m yours,” he babbled, and this time when she took him in her mouth he let go, his come hitting the back of her throat while he sighed brokenly above her.

Bellamy hauled her up to standing before he’d even finished twitching, tongue in her mouth and hand down her yoga pants.  “Do you think about this too?” he asked in her ear, fingers slipping through her wetness. “Do you get yourself off, thinking about me fucking you?”

“You know I do,” she gasped and he swirled one finger around her entrance, probing but not quite thrusting into her, not yet.  “I fucked myself with a vibrator last night, thinking about you eating me out.” Her legs were trembling already and she grabbed onto his shoulders for purchase, lips against his ear.

Bellamy pushed his finger into her and she moaned.  “Shhh, princess,” he warned. “You’ve gotta be quiet like this.  People’ll hear, and you wouldn’t like that, would you?” She shook her head and he chuckled, lapping at her pulse point.  “How hard did you come?” he continued, and she whimpered.

“Hard,” she admitted, doing her best to whisper even as her throat strained.  “I almost blacked out.”

Bellamy added a second finger and thumbed at her clit, making her keen.  “Quiet,” he admonished, his other hand coming up to cover her mouth. “You’ve gotta be quiet, or else they’ll know.”  There was an edge to his words she couldn’t parse, not now, not when she was so close to coming. “Think you can do that? Stay quiet while I’m fingerfucking you against the door?”  She shook her head no, because she was falling apart and on the verge of screaming, his fingers curling inside of her and his thumb pressing hard and fast against her clit.

He laughed softly to himself and thrusted harder, the door rattling with their movements.  The fire in her belly built to an impossible pitch, consuming her from the inside out, and when she came it was with a strangled moan.  Bellamy moved his hand and muffled the rest with his lips, kissing her while she clenched and shuddered around his fingers. “That’s it, just like that,” he whispered, still thrusting even though it was almost more than she could take. “Good girl, just like that.”  The edge was gone, his voice nothing but warmth, and Clarke melted against him.

Bellamy kept her propped up against the door and continued kissing her, slowly bringing her back to herself.  His tongue retreated and she chased it, hazy and sloppy, and then they were just trading gentle, quick kisses while his hands stroked up and down her shoulders.  She fit her hand around his jaw, thumb brushing through his stubble, and traced the seam of his lips with her tongue.

Bellamy pulled back and looked away.  “I should get going,” he said, pulling his shorts back up.  “Our luck could run out at any time.”

Clarke felt drunk, lips swollen from his kisses and brain still fuzzy from what had just happened.  “Yeah, uh, I’ll go out first?” she said, frantically trying to pull herself back together. “And, uh, don’t worry, I won’t be back here at this time again,” she added, and Bellamy tilted his head to the side, puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know this is when you come to the gym so I won’t— you don’t have to worry about this being a regular thing.  Take care,” she said, making sure her shirt was straight before slipping out the door.

 

She was grateful the door kept her from looking back at him again.


	5. Chapter 5

Fifteen Months Ago

“Why am I not surprised you’re bailing?” Bellamy spat, and Clarke refused to let him see that his barb had found its mark.

“Whatever, we both knew this was going to happen eventually,” she threw back, arms crossed.  She needed to get away, get out from under this before the weight of it all came crashing down on her.

She should have seen this coming.  First with Finn, then with Lexa— any time she let her guard down, she got crushed.  And Bellamy, even though they’d only been together for a few months, had the ability to pulverize her into dust if she let him.

And she wouldn’t let that happen, even if it meant blowing up the best thing she’d ever had.  Clarke had been preparing for this for days, ever since he let it slip.

_ I love you. _  Three little words, whispered in her ear while his dick was inside her, her nails digging into his back.  They fell from his lips with a dozen other things, a litany of  _ yes like that, god I love your cunt, love the way you feel, I love— I love you, _ all at once, unthinking and unbidden.

She should have just pretended it didn’t happen.  He didn’t say anything to her after, no clarification or apology, no hint that he even realized what he’d said, so she didn’t mention it either.  But it burrowed down deep in her heart until she knew she couldn’t go on, not like this.

Because Bellamy was in love with her.  But he didn’t want to be.

An honest conversation about their feelings was probably the adult way to handle it, but she was too afraid of what would come out.  She couldn’t handle him explaining why he regretted it, why he was fighting it. Why he knew, just like she did, that she was too difficult to love, really.  Better to cut her losses now, instead of later when it would really hurt. So instead she just told him she figured things with them had run their course, knowing he would take the bait and fight her on it.  Fighting with him was familiar ground, and it was better if he could hate her for leaving. That would make it easier to move on, at least for him.

She’d deal with her own shit later.

“So that’s it?  You’re just gonna walk out that door?”

Clarke shrugged like her heart wasn’t shattering into pieces.  “Are you going to stop me?”

In the end, he didn’t.

* * *

 

Clarke pulled the cork on the second bottle of wine and refilled Raven’s glass.  “Okay, enough about the flying lessons,” Raven giggled, half-drunk. “What’s new with you?”

“Nothing,” Clarke lied, but Raven could always see right through her.

“Right, uh huh,  _ nothing,” _ she said.  “Anything you want to share with the class?”

“The class has given me strict instructions not to get her involved,” Clarke replied pointedly.

Raven scrunched up her face.  “Oh fuck, it’s...that? Still?  Didn’t we talk about that like, forever ago?”

“Only a few weeks,” Clarke shrugged, like she wasn’t counting.

Like each and every encounter with him wasn’t driving her deeper into what she’d crawled out of last year.  

“Oh good lord, you two are back together, aren’t you?”

“No,” she said quickly.  “Not for real, anyway.”

“Honestly, that’s worse,” Raven said.  “Can I be blunt for a second?”

“Aren’t you always?”

“Yes, but not necessarily about you and Bellamy, because— well, I love you both, and it’s hard to be caught in between you two.  So just know that I’m saying this not only because I love him, but I love you too, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Right.  Okay, so...you know how he can be a little, um, intense?  Well, so can you.”

“Yes, I'm aware,” Clarke said drily.

“No, I know you are, but that’s why when you guys are together, it’s...well, I think you’re both all-or-nothing people, pretending to be super casual.  And that doesn’t work.”

“I’ve had plenty of casual relationships,” Clarke protested.

“Yeah, with  _ other _ people.  Not with Bellamy.  And he can too, when it’s not  _ you.” _

“So what are you saying?”

Raven pinned her with a long, searching look.  “I’m saying, when it comes to you guys, you’ve got to be all in or all out.  Halfway won’t work, for either of you.”

Clarke’s heart sank.  There was too much truth ringing in Raven’s words for her to ignore it, and she knew what that meant.

She just didn’t know if she could bring herself to do it again.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy looked surprised when he answered the door.  “Can we talk?” she said, before he would have a chance to kiss her or touch her or do anything that would make her lose her nerve.

“Miller’s home,” he said uncomfortably.

“I just want to talk.”

He nodded slowly, clearly thinking it over, and then let her in.

His bedroom looked exactly the same, down to the precarious stacks of books scattered all over the floor.  She edged past them and leaned back against his desk while he sat on the corner of his bed, not looking at her.  “I think I know what you’re going to say,” he said, and she shook her head.

“Let me talk, please,” she said hurriedly.  “When I first started this, I didn’t think— well, I wasn’t thinking, really.  I just knew I was going nuts, not able to forget you, and I thought I could...I don’t know, fuck my way out of it.  Which was dumb, I get that now, and I think we’re playing with fire here.”

Bellamy rested his elbows on his knees.  “We are, aren’t we?” he said softly.

“We don’t work like this,” she continued, drawing on her conversation with Raven for strength.  “We can’t be in-between.”

“No, we never really have been, have we?” he agreed with a forced chuckle.  “This is fucked up, you know.”

“I know, and it’s all my fault.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bellamy said, still looking at the ground.  “I was a part of this too. And a part of how we ended up in this fucked up place to begin with.”

Clarke closed her eyes, wondering if the pained look on his face the day she walked out would ever leave her.  “Don’t say that,” she whispered. “This isn’t on you. It’s never been on you.”

“Right.  Like you didn’t leave me because I let my damn mouth run away with me,” he said bitterly.  When he finally looked up she had to blink back tears. “One— one favor, if I can even ask that,” he said.

“Of course.  Anything.”

Bellamy reached out, tangling his fingers with hers.  “I think part of the problem, for me anyway, was...last time, there was no closure.  I didn’t get a chance to— to say goodbye.”

Clarke let him tug her closer, her hand rising automatically to cup his cheek.  He nuzzled her palm, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “What are you asking?” She thought she knew, but she needed to hear it to be sure.

“One last time,” he whispered desperately.  “Just once, and I’ll let you go.”

Her heart twisted.  Clarke sucked at goodbyes— it’s why she tended to pack up and run when things got bad, because deep down, she was too damn soft to handle them.  People got under her skin and she wouldn’t be able to walk away. And Bellamy deserved someone better, someone he could love openly and easily, without all her baggage.

Because Clarke hadn’t broken up with him because he said  _ I love you _ and didn’t mean it.  She’d left because she _knew_ he did.

But she didn’t deserve his love.  

It wasn’t any one person or thing or event that had taught her that.  There was nothing so dramatic, just a general vague suspicion she had carried about herself for a long time, and when Bellamy had let those words slip out she knew she had to get out before she hurt him too badly. 

Clarke never wanted to hurt people, but she always managed to, even when doing her best to protect them.  She’d hurt Raven without even knowing she existed, and she hurt Lexa by not being able to commit to her for the rest of her life at 22.  She hurt her mother by switching from pre-med to art, and she hurt her father by not giving her mother more of a chance at forgiveness before he died.

That was her curse, and Bellamy deserved so much better than that.

Clarke tipped his head back, not sure she was strong enough to look him in the eye but needing to do it for his sake.  “Just once,” she said, throat thick with tears. “And then I have to go.” 

He rose up to press their lips together, already tasting like salt, and Clarke let him twist them around to press her back against the mattress.  She hadn’t been in his bed since he told her he loved her but it still smelled the same, like laundry and books and  _ him _ .

Ever since they started this, they’d touched each other like time was running out.  And now that it was, they were acting like they had all the time in the world. They eased up his bed until her head was on his pillows, their legs tangled together, and kissed.  Slowly, languorously, deeply; his body covering hers with its delicious weight. A tear slipped down her cheek and she didn’t know if it was his or hers, just slipped her hands under his shirt to feel his skin and distract herself from the end barreling towards them.  He wiped the tear from her face with his thumb, noses brushing together tentatively.

Bellamy sat back to let her peel his shirt off and worked at the buttons between her breasts, kissing each new slice of skin as he revealed it.  His movements were slow and reverent, and while she knew it would be easier on her in the long run if he made this quick and filthy, deep down, her heart wanted this.  He kissed the ticklish spot on her ribcage and she squirmed, dragging a chuckle from his lips and a tender, lazy smile tinged with sadness.

“God, your body,” he whispered, hands skimming her torso.  “I’ll never forget it. I’ll be on my deathbed, thinking about these tits.”  He lifted one breast from her bra, folding the cup down so he could tease her nipple with the tip of his tongue.  He fit his teeth around it delicately and she gasped, fingers knotting in his hair to keep his mouth in place.

Tongue still flicking against her hard, aching nipple he eased his other hand down, popping the button on her jeans and reaching inside her panties.  They groaned in unison when he found how wet she was, but all too soon he’d pulled back his hand.

He circled his glistening finger around her areola, painting her skin with her own arousal and then licking it off while she watched.  He did it again with her other breast, each touch of his tongue sending more and more wetness between her thighs.

Bellamy moved lower, settling on his stomach between her legs and pulling her jeans with him.  She helped him tug them off and shimmied out of her panties while she was at it, tossing her shirt and bra off the edge of the bed to meet them.

She was completely naked, bared to his gaze, while he was still mostly clothed.  But then their eyes met and she realized he was just as vulnerable as she was, the softness in his gaze wrapping around her heart until she couldn’t breathe.

He bent his head, tongue spearing through her folds so quickly she threw her head back against the pillows.  He spread her wide, her feet planted on the mattress, and lapped at her fiercely until she lost awareness of her other senses.  There was only Bellamy’s lips and tongue, sucking at her clit and licking around the tight muscles of her entrance, the pressure building and receding and then building again until she was incoherent, sobbing with want and begging him to let her come.

He drew her clit between his lips again, lashing it with his tongue, and she came with a harsh, quick snap.  One second she was riding a rising wave and the next she was drowning, his mouth pulling her through it and into the next onslaught, rising and rising and then cresting again.  He didn’t stop until she pushed him away, coming up to kiss her with her taste still lingering on his lips.

She fumbled at his pants, her muscles still addled and clumsy, but soon he was naked too, his cock pressing into her thigh while she kissed him like she was dying and this was her last night on earth.  Clarke was glad he had to foresight to reach over to his nightstand and dig out a condom, because if he hadn’t she might not have bothered, so gone was she was the need to feel him inside of her.

She rolled them over and positioned herself above him, easing on the condom with a practiced movement and bracing her hands against his chest.  Her eyes found his and she waited for his nod before lowering herself down, adjusting to the sweet twinge of intrusion with him one last time.

Panic gripped her.   _ The last time.  You’ll never feel this good, ever again. _ “Talk to me,” she begged, realizing he’d been quieter than usual.  “Tell me how this feels for you.” She rocked her hips forward and pressed their chests together, sacrificing leverage for the feel of his skin on hers.

Bellamy dug his fingers into her hips and pushed her down on his cock as his own hips curled up.  “So good,” he gasped, kissing her between words. “It always feels so good, so perfect. Your skin, your taste, your cunt, your tits— there’s nothing like them, not for me.”  Clarke closed her eyes and buried her face in his neck, surrendering herself to him and letting his words wash over her. “It’s you, it’s always you.”

Clarke rolled her hips as he pushed deeper and deeper into her, her breasts rubbing against his chest and her clit hitting his pubic bone at just the right angle.  “For me too,” she whispered, needing him to know. “It’s not like this with anyone else, just you, just you, always.” Another spiral of need built in her core, every press of his cock inside of her bringing her closer to the edge.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice cracking.  He wrapped his arms around her back and held her still, driving into her over and over again.  He started to lose his rhythm just as she fell off the cliff, cunt clenching down on him and releasing as she came.  “Goddamn,” he said again, and then he was coming, filling the condom and tucking his nose into her hair, breathing hard.

Now was when she needed to leave, but she couldn’t.  Clarke let him roll them to their sides and pull out of her but she couldn’t find the willpower to keep going.  She should sit up and find her clothes, get dressed and get out of here before she did something really stupid, like tell him the truth.

That she loved him, and had never stopped.  She knew that now, after months of telling herself she was being ridiculous.  But maybe this was her penance for hurting him in the first place, and maybe this was no less than what she deserved.

She gathered her strength and went to roll over, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.  “Stay,” he whispered. “Stay tonight, and then— then we can pretend this never happened.”

And because Clarke was weak, she nodded and let him pull her against his chest.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Clarke blinked awake, wondering when she last felt this content.  She was warm, ensconced in Bellamy’s arms with her back to his chest, his breath fanning her skin. But a split second later reality rushed back in and her heart caved in.  Bellamy had asked her for a goodbye and she gave that to him, but now she would have to walk away for good.

And it just might kill her.

Bellamy kissed the tip of her shoulder and then stilled, as if realizing what he’d just done.  Clarke rolled over to face him just as he rolled away. She didn’t think her heart could sink further, but it she was wrong.  It could  He sat on the edge of the bed, back to her, scrubbing his hand across his face. “I still have some of your stuff, if you want to change before you go home,” he rasped.

Against her better judgment, Clarke reached out and touched the small of his back.  He didn’t flinch, at least. “I thought you said you threw that away.” 

“Yeah, well, I lied.  It’s in the bottom drawer,” he said, refusing to look at her. A tiny seed of hope took root in her chest.

“Or we could talk,” she offered.  “We probably owe each other that much.”

Bellamy glanced at her, his face unreadable.  “Probably.”

Clarke nodded, the seed turning into a small, hopeful bud.  She leaned over the edge and found his shirt— it wasn’t the flannel she used to half-live in, but it smelled like him and if he wasn’t throwing her out, maybe she could make a point with it.  She pulled it on and settled back against the wall, trying not to fidget.

Bellamy sat back next to her but didn’t say anything.  “Does Miller know I’m here?” she asked.

“I’m guessing he knows someone is.  I don’t know if he’s figured out that it’s you.”

“Did he know about us?  I’m not mad if he did, I’m just curious.”

Bellamy shook his head.  “I figured you didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.  “You didn’t really want them to know the first time, and this time is considerably more fucked up, princess.”

“That’s not true.”

“No, I think I can pretty safely say this is the most fucked up non-relationship I’ve ever had.”

Clarke wrapped her arms around her knees. “No, I mean— I never wanted to keep you a secret the first time.”

“Sure felt like it,” he said, and the dregs of some of their previous fights floated to the surface of her mind.

“It wasn’t because of how I felt about you,” she argued.  “It was because I was scared they’d be mad at me.”

“You thought our friends would be mad at you for dating me,” he said flatly.

“Well, to be fair, they were  _ your _ friends first.  And I wasn’t worried that they’d hate me for dating you, I thought they’d worry that I wouldn’t treat you well.  And I was right to worry, because when we broke up I got Raven and like, half of Monty, and everyone else hates me.”

"They don't hate you."

"But they chose you," she pointed out.

Bellamy seemed to concede her point.  “So every time you convinced me to skip hanging out with them and stay in bed with you, it wasn’t because you were ashamed?”

“Ashamed?” She sat up straighter.  “Of what, you?”

“It was the logical conclusion, princess.”

“Then why didn’t you dump me?  If you thought I was that shitty, why didn’t you walk away?”

He looked at her, straight in the eye, and the sadness she saw in them broke her heart.  “Because I couldn’t. Because— because I was a goddamn idiot who went and fell in love with you way too fast, and as soon as you found out, you bailed.”

“That wasn’t the problem,” she whispered.  She wanted to reach for him but wouldn’t let herself, not yet.

“No?  Then what was it?  Because from where I was sitting, it sure felt like you dumped me a couple days after I went and admitted it.  I loved you, and it was too soon for you to reciprocate— I get that, I don’t blame you for it. But god, it fucking sucked.”

“It wasn’t too soon,” Clarke said quietly.  “I didn’t leave because you loved me, I left because you didn’t _want_ to love me.”

Silence fell.  “What?”

“Come on, Bellamy, how it happened— I knew what you meant.  You meant it, but you didn’t want to, and I couldn’t blame you for that, no matter how I felt about you.”

“And how did you feel about me?” he asked thickly.  

“I loved you but you deserved better.  I thought if I got out then, I’d spare us both the pain of it blowing up later, when it’d be worse.”

“Who the fuck gave you the right to decide that?” he asked, anger leaking into his voice.

“I didn’t say it was fair, I just— I didn’t want you to think that I left because you screwed up.  I left because I’m a fuck up, not because of anything you did or said."

“I just— I don’t get it, Clarke.  Who the hell breaks up with someone because they’re  _ both _ in love?”

“Someone who is scared of being loved by someone like you,” she blurted without thinking.  It sounded like the sort of revelation that should be helped along by several years of therapy, but the moment she said it she knew it was the god’s honest truth.  Bellamy loved people so fiercely and completely, and that was terrifying for her. Letting him love her meant letting him love the ugly, selfish parts of her, and whenever she thought of that her instinct was to run.

And run she had, until she couldn’t run any further.

Bellamy shook his head sadly.  “Am I that bad?” he whispered, and she reached over, grabbing his hand.

“Of course not.  I just meant— you’re so open, Bellamy.  When you love people, it’s so...all encompassing.  Total. And I love— loved you, but you— you deserve to be loved like that.  I’m selfish, and spoiled, and when I think I’m going to get hurt I cut my losses and run, and I didn’t deserve that from you.”

Bellamy touched her cheek with his other hand.  “How can you say that?”

“Bitter, painful experience,” she said wryly.

"Don't say that," he admonished, and she swallowed hard.  “And this?  What we started, what— what was that?”

“It was what I said it was, at least at first.  I couldn’t forget you, and I convinced myself I just needed...closure," she said.

“Did you get it?”

“Did you?”

Bellamy shook his head again.  “I’m starting to think closure doesn’t exist with us.”

“No, I don’t think it does.”  She ran her fingers through his hair and his eyes fluttered closed.

“So where does that leave us?” he asked.

“Where are you?”

“I asked you first,” he said, opening his eyes and grinning faintly.

“Fine then.  Where I am is where I was over a year ago.  Sure I don’t deserve you.”

“What’ll it take?  To prove that you do?”  He pressed his forehead to hers, both of them taking deep, shuddering breaths.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “It sounds like something I should be working on, not you.”

He bumped their noses together.  “I can probably help, you know. Show you how much I care about you, and all that,” he teased, and she lost a battle with a smile.  

She looped her arms around his neck.  “Bellamy, I—”

“Are you going to leave this time?” he interrupted.  “Will you walk away without explaining yourself again?"

“No,” she vowed.  “I promise.”

“And will you believe me when I say things?  And tell me if you’re scared, or I’m too much, or if I’m just...being me, and kind of being a dick?”

“Yes,” she said.  “Although it might be helpful if you said some of those things when you  _ aren’t _ fucking me, just, you know, for clarity.”

He grinned and her chest threatened to burst with happiness.  “I think I can work on that.”

But there was one more thing she had to ask, and fear crept in around the edges.  She made herself look at him. “Can you forgive me for...everything?”

He took a deep breath.  “Forgiveness has never come easy for me, but— I think I already did.  If you can forgive me, of course.”  He took her face in his hands. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you, you know.  I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Me either,” she admitted.  For the second time in twelve hours, she kissed him with tears on their lips.  

But this time they tasted sweet.

She couldn’t stop smiling, and when he shoved her backwards on the bed she let out a bark of laughter that echoed off the walls.  “As much as I love you in this, you’re going to need to take it off,” Bellamy mumbled, fisting the hem of his shirt and tugging it up.

“Only if I get it back.”  She pushed his boxers down, eager to feel him again.

Bellamy didn’t stop kissing her, not when his hands skated across her torso and not when he pressed his fingers inside her, her slickness easing the way.  Clarke arched her neck and he kissed down the side of her throat, one hand working her cunt as he bent to draw her nipple into his mouth.

Clarke gasped, holding his head in place.  “This, this is what I want, what I need,” she sighed.  “You and me, like this.” 

Bellamy nosed at her jaw, fingers buried deep inside her.  “Keep going,” he urged, scraping his teeth along her collarbone.  “Tell me how it feels.” They were her words from last night, but free of the desperation.  This was a gift she could give him, freely and openly, and she let herself melt into him, every filthy thing she wanted him to do pouring out of her.

“You inside of me is the best I’ve ever felt; your cock, your tongue, your fingers— no one makes me feel like this,” she rambled, heat building in her core.  Bellamy kissed the side of her throat and she moaned, walls trembling around his fingers as he moved. “The way you fuck me, it’s so good, it’s— it’s all I ever want.  I’m yours, always have been, always will be,” she finished with a strangled whine.

Her peak came quietly, rolling up and down like a gentle breeze.  She dropped her hand to his cock, stroking him while they traded kisses, and she only let go to let him roll on the condom.  And then he was above her, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, and she felt him slip inside her, filling her perfectly.

“God, I love you,” he whispered into her ear.  “I love you so much.” He moved slowly, each drag of his cock drawing more and more wetness from her, and Clarke let her hands roam the smooth, hot skin on his back.

“I love you too,” she echoed, and a weight fell from her that she hadn’t known she was carrying.  She hooked her ankles around his back to keep him close, kissing him with each thrust, feeling her need for him build until her muscles were taut and her vision was narrowing.

They found their edges together, tumbling off a cliff with breathless abandon, his face buried in her neck and her nails clutching his shoulders.  It was slow and sweet and left her shaking, never wanting it to end.

She curled around him, walking her fingers across his chest and mouthing at his shoulder.  It felt like a luxury to be able to do this after so long, and for once she let herself enjoy it.  Bellamy pulled her closer, his nose tucked into the crown of her head, and they laid together, half awake and half asleep, until his phone buzzed with a text.

“Looks like Raven is meeting some people for lunch,” he said, holding up his phone.

“If I say I’m not up for it yet, will that feel like I’m hiding this?”

“Depends on why,” he said, caressing her cheek.

“Honestly, I just really don’t want to leave this bed yet.  But I’m also a little worried people will be mad at me for jerking you around.  Which I can deal with, but maybe not yet. Could we hang out with them tomorrow?”

Bellamy tilted her chin up so he could kiss her.  “Sure. We’ll face them together.”

Clarke smiled and slipped her arms around his neck, tangling their legs together as she moved.  “Together.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, babes.


	7. Bellamy POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between chapters 2 and 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @jellamyjake requested bellarke and “Kisses because everything hurts right now including being loved by you but you’re also the only thing that makes it feel better” from a kiss meme I reblogged, and I figured I’d set this lil’ angsty ficlet in the messy exes universe.

Normally, when Bellamy had a problem like this he would talk to someone about it— usually Miller, occasionally Raven, sometimes Monty.  Murphy, if he was desperate. But he knew what every single one of them would say, and he didn’t want to hear it.

_ You shouldn’t have fucked her in the first place. _  That was in Miller’s voice, dry but serious.   _ What a goddamn mess _ , Raven would say, while Monty would cluck sympathetically and suggest the he already knew the answer to his problem.  Murphy would just laugh at him and pass the whiskey, which was probably  _ closest _ to what Bellamy needed right now, but it still wasn’t enough.

Because what he really needed was to fuck Clarke again.

He couldn’t believe he was back here so easily, but then again Clarke was the exception to every goddamn rule he’d ever made.  It normally took him a long time to admit he was in love with someone— too long, honestly, but being in love made him feel too vulnerable.  And then he’d gone and not only fallen in love with Clarke in under three months, he fucking  _ told her _ like a goddamn idiot.  Clarke, the queen of casual fucks, who had made it perfectly clear she didn’t want anything too serious, least of all with him.  She liked fucking him and spending time lazing half-naked around her apartment, but when it came to Official Relationship Things like going out in public, she tended to convince him it was better to just stay in bed.  That was the person he decided to say  _I love you_ to when their relationship was barely off the runway, and he couldn't even pretend to be surprised when they crashed and burned shortly thereafter.  He should have just kept his mouth shut, but she had a way of drawing out the side of himself he had spent years building walls to protect, especially when they were in bed together.

As she had put it the other day, sex was never their problem.  Sex with Clarke was addicting, and here he was, nearly a year clean and crawling back to her like he hadn’t done his best to forget what they had. She was right— she was stuck under his skin. B ut where one more fuck was all she needed, he had the opposite problem.  Having her and losing her had been unbearable; having her again and knowing it was the last time he’d be inside of her was a fucking death sentence.  He should have stayed away; should have let her leave his office, cheeks burning in embarrassment, and moved on.  He should have celebrated that she was just as fucked up about them as he was, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to be happy she was messed up because a stupid part of him still cared.  And above all, he shouldn’t have gone to her apartment that night.  That was the dumbest thing he'd done in a long time, dumber even than keeping her clothes tucked into his bottom drawer when he knew damn well he should have thrown them away.

He’d gone so far as to go out last night, hoping to find someone— anyone— to erase her taste from his memory.  But the woman he found was just enough like Clarke to make him hate himself more.  She was blonde and pretty and not interested in anything more than a quick fuck, but even that didn't assuage his guilt, because the entire time he was fucking her he was thinking about Clarke.

Sighing, he poured himself a shot for courage and wished Miller wasn’t gone on business trip, because the presence of a roommate might stop him from doing this.  He called up her number and admitted to her what he hated admitting to himself.

_ Once wasn’t enough _

He hit send and took another shot, because self-loathing tasted best with a side of whiskey.  She wouldn’t respond and he couldn’t blame her, but now there was someone else in the world who knew his misery.  She might not give a damn, but at least he wasn’t alone.

The knock on the door less than a half hour later had him jumping out of his skin.  He blinked in surprise to find her waiting just over the threshold, and like  _ always _ with Clarke, his body overtook his brain.  He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him, his lips crushing against hers before he could stop to ask himself if this was even what she wanted.  Maybe she'd come to tell him to leave her alone; that she was over him completely now.  But then she was kissing him back, fingers tangled in his hair, and his heart swelled and shattered at the same time.

Because he was well and truly fucked, and in more ways than one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from Matt Nathanson's song Used to Be
> 
> When we were young and we were free  
> And all your friends were friends with me  
> Swimming in our clothes when the beach was closed, midnight on New Year's Eve  
> And if you're having trouble baby, holding on to memories  
> I've got a king sized bed and a PHD in the way it used to be


End file.
